Historical Setting, unknown
All along this walk I share the winter peace, solitude by the sea with only the birds and critters. I’ve seen seals on some rocks – probably every strange creature imaginable is lurking in this vacancy of humankind. And here are all the birds that linger on the rocks, spread-winged, or soaring on the winds over the waters, roosting on rocks, shouting their roughened expletives, fearless against the vacant skies of winter.
Dear God, thank you for this first life, Eden—blank wilderness — clean slate for Creation. May I take the human part into it gifting and giving, knowing and understanding the full texture of the weave where I am also a part. Little Brother comes by, maybe to make sure I’m still on my straight trek in case he would want to find me again — and now he is gone, back into the wood.
The sun is tilting west now –sending corpuscular rays of its parting above the forests.
I come to that place where only last night there were people on this beach, leaving this ashen ring of once a fire. Scent of smoke, warm sand, I turn the ash whitened log – here are embers! Blow on the embers, add the grasses and the dry leaves, add some twigs and now some sticks, enough and here is flame. I search for more wood and I find wood, and another log. It is all I can carry –more and more wood I gather. Always I collect stuff – it is the way of mice and squirrels, crows and humans.
“Hey Little Brother! I have fire! Now you can see what being human is all about. While you are off in the woods looking for community, here I am, making a heap of burn-ables.”
He doesn’t hear me. He hasn’t come back tonight to enjoy the warmth of my fire. I fold the extra deer skin I’ve been carrying on my back to make a shelter open on the side of fire for a warm night’s rest. I expect the cold winds might send him back to me again tonight.
But now, with the winter moon and the wolf gone away I hear his lonely song. He knows where I am. It is his choice to be alone tonight. But now, in the distance his howl is answered with wolves. So, he has found his community. For me, all I’ve found are the ashes leftover from people who aren’t here anymore. Tomorrow, I will follow the tracks of their sled.
(Continues tomorrow)
Lazarus Ink 